Enter Beadle.
Poore man. Alasse maister I am not able to stand alone,
You go about to torture me in vaine.
Humph. Well sir, we must haue you finde your legges.
Sirrha Beadle, whip him till he leape ouer that same stoole.
120 Beadle. I will my Lord, come on sirrha, off with your doublet quickly.
[♦] Poore man. Alas maister what shall I do, I am not able to stand. After the Beadle hath hit him one girke, he leapes ouer the stoole and runnes away, and they run after him, crying, A miracle, a miracle.
Hump. Amiracle, a miracle, let him be taken againe, & whipt through euery Market Towne til he comes at Barwicke where he 125 was borne.
Mayor. It shall be done my Lord. Exet Mayor.
Suffolke. My Lord Protector hath done wonders to day,